Wave upon wave…

Standard
Adrift

“You can’t wait until life isn’t hard anymore before you decide to be happy!” – J.M ‘Nightbirde’

It’s not about the decision but rather the elusiveness of happiness. Battered over and over, each wave harder than the latter, yet the stone quietly disappears still glistening, every encounter ripping a piece of my soul. Would you let me see beneath your beautiful, each shuddering breath anticipating the usual no? You don’t know me, you don’t see me but you clamor like the earth and its fullness is yours? How much longer can I bear this weight? How broken am I? Perfection, an oasis in the shimmering distance, unattainable yet teasing.

My clenched teeth hidden behind a smile is the only visible sign of the agony that besets me with every breath. Love surely doesn’t live here anymore however beneath my tent, I still hear the raucous laughter of the naive, the barely concealed glee of ill gotten weight, pockets weighted down that they burden you unknowingly. Here today, gone tomorrow; saddled with the burden of keeping count, I’m almost terrified to look at pictures just to acknowledge the spaces that once were occupied. How much longer can I go on? My question is rhetorical because the silence just magnifies my inability to comprehend.

Dreams disabled? It takes nought to do and still the dreams shatter but not the ability to. It’s eerily quiet at the moment and despite how hard I try, this is a moment that just won’t disappear. Where do broken smiles go? Where are they buried? Forget the fading applause, the night is certain in its duties. Disregard the glitter, they are but crumbling dust in my hands. The whispered terror, the blood shed, the victory won; it’s a maze I’m in but with each passing second, my limbs can barely function. This can’t be my home because I’ve walked the streets of grandeur once, hope is all I’ve got now and like the sand in the hourglass, it trickles away.

Just before this flame is extinguished, I grab the next candle, all but wax….hope remains surely. In the twinkle of an eye, the breath ceases and with the silence, I can hear it no more. Fifteen men on a dead man’s chest? Begone vile ones for he too deserves some peace. Your rum laced breath, overpowering as you prerorate, nothing is yours, you seem to forget. Naked you came in and naked you’ll depart, how do you so easily forget this? There’s no mountain high enough to shelter you, no valley low enough to hide the echo that resonates with your foolish gestures.

The years go by, and I find joy in the seed of my loins. Nothing can be done that hasn’t been done, yet still I refuse to cease my search for light in this overwhelming darkness. It’s not my garment of choice, each gust of wind blowing away a piece of my tattered cloak and still I must choose. When will the end come as I continue on my journey? What companion awaits me ahead is a question I cannot answer however I must ask. And if the ire is unleashed, what do I fear cos there’s nothing left.

70% hypothesized, but the tears so fast-flowing gives room to doubt. In my lament, I know there’s a message for any who cares to listen. You cannot cry me a river, the drought has been long and severe, cruelty is its driving force. The cold gnaws to the inside and all warmth is almost gone, and still I’m here; hope for the future, my only respite. In Your Arms, I find refuge and although comprehension might not be there, I’ll take what I’m given and yet hope. My strength has since depleted, the hollow echo bearing witness however it’s not by strength.

Cast adrift like flotsam, the waves are even more brutal, a purpose to be fulfilled regardless of how empty I fill. My journal has more endings and I hope, still I hope that there are also beginnings. Not the beginning of a journey, this one I’m yet to complete but rather the beginning of a restoration. I’ll yet hold on even as my sinews come apart and my ligaments give out, it’s nothing new but this I know “A man who has not prepared his children for his own death has failed as a father.”

Rest in peace, GED, OEBI, CD, RCB, PKW, NOC, CJO, JNM, KL, PZ, WS and may your memories be blessings to us.

Changing Your Story…..

Standard

Achieving Balance

Achieving Balance

To everything that exists (to the best of my little knowledge) there will always be pros and con, and to further emphasize this, one of my favorite quotes by Baruch Spinoza is, “No matter how thin you slice it (bread for instance), it will always have two sides” and so we are consistently being pitted against ourselves – our perceptions, our ideologies, our interpretations however regardless of how much we go against ourselves, the moral fabric will always stay true. Right and wrong; two extremes with a wide range between them and even if you can only see black or white, there will always be shades of grey in between. The beauty of life is best enhanced when we understand that there is a balance to everything and learning to apply that balance is a skill best sought.

One of the cons of coming from a fairly large family with two professionals in different careers as parents was their ability to adjust to situations even as we grew up. I recall being awoken most mornings with the lash of the cane (and even in retrospect, I can fairly say it was neither an expression of anger nor a transfer of aggression) but it did the trick – wiping away every vestige of sleep in an instant. I am who I am largely because despite the demands of their jobs, my parents instilled in us what many lack today – the power of believing in yourself. Lest I stray too far away from my ponderings, I want to share one of the daily discourses we had back then as children. Many thanks to ‘Just A Moment Please’ by J. Maurus – a compilation of articles by several intellectually distinct individuals.

….In a village somewhere in the Mediterranean, two young boys were caught stealing sheep (alas the huge amounts of delinquency resident in boys….) and as was the norm back then, the penalty for stealing was to be branded on the forehead (and I am referring to the steel rod and a really stoked fire). And so the story continues, these two friends and brothers had the letters ‘ST’ (abbreviated from Sheep Thief) branded on their foreheads. The shame and derision accompanying that is best left to your imagination however after a couple of years, one of the two brothers could no longer continue with the derision and cost of his choice and so with no fanfare at all, he gathered all his possessions and travelled to a distant city where nothing was known of him. Truth be told however is that in order to begin afresh, acknowledgement, admission and repentance are vital prerequisites. Suffice to say, that he never got his act together and died some years after and was buried as a John Doe.

The other brother however acknowledged that his own choice had led him down that path and therefore the least he could do was not to run away from himself but rather to pay the cost and seize the opportunity of righting his wrongs. Several decades later, now a bent frail man, he passed by a group of young kids playing and as expected, the young kids’ discussion turned to him. A couple of them asked the million-dollar question, ‘what on earth caused that old man to be branded on his forehead and what exactly do those two letters stand for?’ After several minutes spent contemplating, the oldest of the kids responded thus, ‘My grandparents told me the story long ago and I think the letters stand for Saint!’ ”

Changing Course

Changing Course

Till this moment, many variations of that tale are being re-enacted all over the world and it is undoubtedly not a subject of debate that none of us is immune to making wrong choice. We all do at some point in our lives, some make it a habit but the incontestable truth is that we are all victims of our own choices and therefore the architects of our own story. I dare say that all over today’s world despite the current chaos and mayhem, despite our circumstances or environment, the power to change our story does not reside in the hands of those in authority, it resides in our own hands. Permit me to say that it is easier said or written than actually done but it can be done. When we acknowledge the fleeting passage of time and the need to make our lives count for something other than nought then that in my opinion is a rather good starting point.

Kindly show me an individual who proclaims that he is perfect and I would reveal to you a man well versed in the art of spewing beguiling and untrue words. Yes, we are all works-in-progress however it would be more meaningful to seek the applause of Our Creator albeit in the minutest of kind and helpful gestures rather than seek the ever-vacillating applause of men. I strive to live by meaningful expressions because it is that it is better late than never and being selfish or self-centered makes for quite an uninteresting and tiny life (at the very core of that existence) and so I choose this day to be thankful for yet another opportunity to right a wrong, forgive another and be of help to someone struggling in a quagmire not necessarily of his own making. I may never check all the boxes on my to-do list, I may consistently battle against dystonia and its ilk, I may be knocked down much more than I would want however I choose to pick myself and wrought some well-deserved change in my little community.

Without an iota of doubt, nothing good comes easy (praying to the best of my knowledge has never been categorized as easy but the results of a fervent prayer will always achieve much), nonetheless I would rather end my days in aspiring to do good than stand by and do nothing. Be careful to contemplate these words: ‘Never give up.’ This is not SOUND advice; it is bad advice. You must give up when there is no point in continuing. Then begin a new course. There is no greater failure than not changing course when the time is right to do so.” – Chloe Thurlow

עד שדרכינו יחצו שוב, תנו לאהבתו ולעוצמתו להנחות אתכם!

Adios!